


Nothing Better than A Good Lie

by AlmarielOfSaintsEthereal4741



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But he is, Depression, He has a relapse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mental Illness, Other, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Weed, an almost lobotomization, could be in the highlands somewhere idk, farm land or whatever, graphic depictions implied, he settles down for two weeks, he should not be alone, in a house he rented with a large amount of land, is says explicit for the rating but i was unsure if i should leave it on Muture so yeah, premade blunts, steven isnt thinking rationally, takes place during road trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28866897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmarielOfSaintsEthereal4741/pseuds/AlmarielOfSaintsEthereal4741
Summary: He was just so tired of it all
Kudos: 12





	Nothing Better than A Good Lie

**Author's Note:**

> This : The voices (Bolded)  
> This : His thoughts (Italicized)  
> “this” : Character lines except for the end. (Italicized with quotes)
> 
> I really dont know how to use this lol

As he steps down from the last step of the stairs, not bothering to turn on the lights, Steven gradually heads to the counter all the while stepping around still heavy boxes he hasn’t bothered to unpack. As he approaches, he grabs his half full glass and takes two sips and sets it down weakly. Hands on the counter he stands there for a while with a stoic look on his face, staring down at the counter, he blinks a few times and shakes his head, sighing dejectedly. He looks to his left where he has set his lighter, he takes it, grabs one of the blunts and heads for the door. 

He reaches out for the knob and turns it, opening the door and is met with the gleam of the shining sun. He squints his eyes a little but he doesn’t bother to shade them. He steps out of the threshold closing the door behind him and steps down onto the wooden porch that creaks under his bare-feet. The soft wind hits him and ruffles his black shirt.

He observes what is beyond him. The farm fields stretch far and wide, some turn into hills, some curve downward into the earth. A few houses scattered in his view. He looks down at his lighter and lights the far end of his blunt and takes a drag. He tilts his head up, closes his eyes, and exhales slowly.

He looks to his right, and sees the rocking chair. So, he walks over to it as the floor creaks and he plops down backwards. He leans forward elbows on his knees and stares down at the floor. He notices how pale his feet are, and he snorts.

 _They’re so ugly._ He thinks to himself as he looks back up to the horizon. He takes another drag, exhaling the smoke from his nose. The sky is a faint orange, yellowy hue. It’s the beginnings of a sunset, so the sky still has some blue left in it. He then gazes at the sun. It’s still eye blindingly light but manageable to look at.

He rubs his left eye with his non blunt hand and shakes his head. His thoughts have been overwhelming him lately, he feels like he’s being swarmed by never ending shadows, by the voices he doesn’t know how to handle.

A few days ago, he had his check up with his therapist. They discussed about how the hybrid was feeling. He had lied to her of course, had said he was feeling up to par and practicing certain exercising to help his mind, calm his breathing. When in reality there was this deep heavy lingering feeling in his chest that just wouldn’t go away. He didn’t really do anything about it. He just plastered on his false genuine smile, _like he did with everybody else,_ as she asked him questions.

Why? Just why did he get help? His therapist is a sweet lady and all that, but why did he get help when all he did was cause even more problems. His existence caused more pain for him than the crystal gems. _Maybe both._

He held his head in his hands. Now he was scaring himself, but wasn’t it true?

He shakes his head. The voices where at it again.

**_No_ ** **_, No, YES, NO, no,_ ** **_YES,_ ** **_yes, nooo_ **

He moans in frustration as he curls his left hand into a fist in his oily hair.

He feels so empty, so hollow. He shakes his head again. He should feel good, feel the satisfaction of the high, right? But he doesn’t.

The boy feels this crushing weight on his shoulders, and yet he isn’t surprised. It scares him, and yet it doesn’t.

He snorts.

 _Isn’t that awful._ He thinks to himself.

What was a boy to do when all was expected of him? Expected to be like his mother. Told he looked like her.

_“Sometimes you even sound like her”_

He rolls up his left sleeve, takes the flat end of the blunt and presses it down on his forearm clinching his teeth as he sees the steam rise up. He makes a fist as his whole arm shakes. After thirty seconds he pulls back and lets out a shaky breath.

He leans his head back.

He thought he could do it. To take on this pain on his own, without going to people whimpering and crying like a little _dog_ in their arms. Not needlessly feeling so needy. Wasn’t he supposed to keep himself in check, to keep his emotions in check? Clearly that wasn’t the point then.

Wasn’t he supposed to hold back on his emotions while he trained? While he went on missions?

He was taught his emotions did not matter in a war. What did he do? Act like an emotional boy and made friends. All the while expected to come home after every mission, and act like everything was normal! To put up a front!

_To act like he wasn’t fighting a war nobody else saw but him_

He was expected to be perfect, to bare the weight of the problems his mother had caused. He had given himself a mission and that was to solve everybody else’s problems. To make them feel important, to make them feel needed and to have an ear.

He was somehow expected to guide a war, that hasn’t truly been over for thousands of years, and put an end to it. He was supposed fight, then suddenly be _kidnapped_ and, and subjected to _experimentation's!_ On an alien planet no less! To be almost mutilated, almost subjected to the point of _lobotomization!_ Then feel the weight of undeniable crushing loss.

He feels like he’s been carrying the weight of his mom’s chains ever since he was born. Yet, he didn’t even know it was crushing him. He felt like he deserved it all.

Through it all he was confused. Confused on who he was, all the while he put on a cheery façade, to put on a _lie._ He was so tired, so incredibly tired.

He buries his head in his hands once again then looks back at the horizon. “I just want to feel good”. He weakly said. Then he feels a sob, that he didn’t even know he was holding in, escape him.

“Why can’t I feel good?” He repeats voice shaky. He’s rubs his forehead “Why?”

He shot out of his chair somehow knocking it back. “How hard can this be? I just want to feel good again!!” He yells out to the lush green fields. Then his eyes trail back to the life giver, the one constant, the one that shines so brightly, that fills him with warmth, but he did not feel the warmth. Could not find the comfort he so desperately needed.

He feels so lost, so _wretched._

He just wants to _die_

He yells at the sun, the one he used to find comfort in. “Why can’t you tell me!?” He pauses, taking in breaths, feels his tears slide down his face. “Please, just tell me what to do!” He lets out a wail that he knows no one will hear and drops to his knees.

He cries into his left hand. He said through sobs. “Just tell me, please”.

Again, he chokes out a weak “please”. That’s all he could muster. Just a desperate weak please.

“ _please”_

**Author's Note:**

> Ok  
> 1\. There is a canon divergence somewhere in the timeline. Maybe just my ideal darker version of the show altogether idk  
> 2\. Steven is tortured once him and Lars arrive on Homeworld. He went through shit, but he wasn't lobotomized, almost subjected to it like enough where they stop just inches from drilling into his head or shoving something up his nose to access his brain, before his torturers get distracted. Lars sees some of this while being dragged away. He see's Steven being wrestled onto the operating table and hears his screams (faintly) through the glass. Lars still dies and gets resurrected  
> 3\. headcannon that The Diamonds and Zircons like to experiment on people. It doesn't matter whether it's gems or organics. They will experiment, whether its for punishment or not.  
> 4\. He does weed. I can imagine him doing it out of comfort more than anything, and also when his thoughts go downhill. also to make himself feel good. He smokes it when he's alone. Since he's a hybrid he does heavy amounts of it. He does edibles as well. Does it at night or when he's alone or thinks he's alone. No one knows he does this.  
> Really didn't know what to title this. It's a line from Evanescence - Everybodys Fool  
> I had an idea on how this fic ends just didnt know how to write the rest out.  
> Hope it was emotional and made sense. Im sure there's not enough self hatred and despair. I tried, but hey it's hard to write a character in character while they are irrational, and depressed.  
> song inspirations while i wrote this  
> Placebo (really Archive) - Fuck You  
> Evanescence-Everybody's Fool
> 
> also here's my discord if anybody wants to join.   
> https://discord.gg/BwryPgbNkh


End file.
